


Happy Accidents

by kathkin



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Jamie is a pushy bottom, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, and the Doctor is weird about sex because he's an alien, smut smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Don’t touch the plants, Jamie!</i> Sex pollen leads to an impromptu biology lesson, which leads to further sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Accidents

The first thing Jamie noticed when he stepped out of the TARDIS was the heat, which was the wet, oppressive kind he was sure would make him sweat through his clothes in minutes. The second was the ground, which was green like grass, but flat and springy as a mattress. He bounced experimentally as Victoria stepped down beside him and hissed at the sudden heat.

They were in a jungle, every around them wet and green, the leaves on the trees massive and fleshy. “Well, isn’t this something!” the Doctor exclaimed as he slipped off his jacket.

“Where are we?” Jamie bounced again, rocking back on his heels.

“Somewhere in the region of Betelgeuse,” said the Doctor.

“Beetles-what?” asked Victoria.

“No, no, _Betelgeuse_ ,” said the Doctor. “It’s the name of the star we’re orbiting. See?” He pointed up at the sun, which was oranger than Jamie was used to. There was a string of moons visible in the daylight, spread across the sky like a lady’s necklace.

“I don’t like it,” pronounced Victoria.

“Aye, it’s too hot.” Jamie loosened his scarf. Victoria murmured in agreement.

“Well, really,” said the Doctor. “Go back inside and get changed if it bothers you. I shall take a look around.” He clapped his hands together and strode away, his coat draped over one arm. Jamie caught Victoria’s eye and rolled his eyes before making to follow.

“I don’t like this place,” Victoria reiterated as they tramped across the curiously springy ground into the trees. “It’s too quiet.” It _was_ quiet, dead quiet. There was barely even any wind.

“It’s quite safe,” the Doctor called over his shoulder. “If I recall correctly, there’s not much in the way of animal life – but don’t touch the plants, Jamie!” Jamie withdrew his hand guiltily. He’d been feeling one of the big leaves to see if it was as pleasantly squishy as it looked. 

He didn’t understand why Victoria was so uneasy. True, the heat was nasty, but the plants seemed altogether soft and unthreatening. But he resolved to stay close by her, if it would make her feel better.

“Now, come and look at this!” said the Doctor. He was leaning over something on the ground between a pair of trees that curved in like an archway. Jamie and Victoria jogged over to join him.

There was a sort of pit, lined with pale green, glossy moss and ringed with blunt-looking spikes. In the centre sat a queer pink thing shaped like a flower-bud, soft and seamless all over. “It looks a bit like a venus flytrap,” said Victoria. “Can it bite?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so.” The Doctor indicated the spikes. “Those are just for show. I’ve not seen one in the wild before. Funny looking thing, isn’t it?”

“You can say that again.” Jamie peered at the flower-bud thoughtfully. It looked a little like a tongue, poking out of the ground. The Doctor hmmed at the plant one last time and ambled away, Victoria behind him. Jamie hung back, looking around for a stick.

He found one nearby, and began to poke at the flower-bud curiously. It gave nicely, as if it was filled with jelly. “Come on, Jamie,” he heard the Doctor call. “Jamie! Don’t touch that!”

“Och, I’m not touching it.” He gave it one last prod, meaning to throw the stick away and follow the Doctor – but he must have prodded too forcefully, or in the wrong place, for abruptly it began to move.

He watched in horror as it puffed up and up, swelling up till it was doubled in size. With a snap it deflating, spurting out a cloud of something yellow and dusty that caught him full in the face. He inhaled sharply without thinking. It tasted bitter and it seemed to coat the inside of his throat. He coughed, gasping for breath, trying to clear the sudden burning in his lungs

Just as it stared to ease up, his head began to spin, and he staggered, unsteady on his feet. “Jamie?” the Doctor called. He heard footsteps racing back across the springy ground.

He didn’t know what he’d breathed in; he was too dizzy and confused to think about it, too dizzy even to panic. The Doctor reached him just as his knees gave out, catching him and holding him more or less upright. “Oh, you silly boy,” Jamie heard before he passed out. “You silly, silly boy.”

*

Heat; everything was heat, an itching, prickly burn that soaked every inch of his skin. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his pulse racing, throbbing in his throat, in his –

Something cool touched his forehead. He let out a moan. There was a fumbling sound, and the Doctor said, “Jamie?”

Jamie forced his eyes open, blinking until the fuzz of tears cleared. He was lying on his own bed in the TARDIS. The Doctor was kneeling beside him, pressing a wet cloth to his forehead. “Doctor?” he said weakly. Talking was a struggle, and he didn’t think he could move at all.

The Doctor sighed and turned the cloth so the cool side was against Jamie’s skin. “I _told_ not to touch the plants.”

“I didnae touch it,” said Jamie. “I was only – _ah_.” His stomach clenched, a sudden wave of arousal crashing through him. He screwed his eyes shut. His head span as it hit him at last just what he was feeling. He wasn’t just feverish, he was – _lustful_. Every part of him was throbbing with it. And the Doctor was _right there_. “What’s happening?”

“That plant you were poking at,” said the Doctor. “ _Aldrovanda puteus_. Its pollen has an intense aphrodisiac effect.”

“Aphro-what?” Jamie slurred. He was so hard it was starting to hurt. If the Doctor wasn’t there he’d have been touching himself – except even if he was alone, he couldn’t have managed it. His limbs felt limp and heavy.

“Aphrodisiac,” the Doctor repeated. “That means it – well, it – it makes you feel – rather as you’re feeling at the moment, I imagine.”

Jamie stared at him – and with growing horror he understood. It was clear from the way the Doctor had stuttered that he knew just exactly what Jamie was _feeling_. He let his eyes fall closed and his head fall back against the pillow with a groan, wishing with all his might for the bed to swallow him up.

“Jamie?” The Doctor took the cloth away. There was a sound of water and it was back.

“That’s no’ really helping,” Jamie muttered without opening his eyes.

“I thought it might take the edge off,” said the Doctor, still mopping at his brow.

Jamie didn’t protest further, because it certainly wasn’t _hurting_ , even if it wasn’t taking the edge off anything. “Where’s Victoria?” he asked.

“I sent her away,” said the Doctor. “I assumed you wouldn’t want her to see you in this condition.”

Jamie nodded weakly. He wanted to say _thank you_ , but he only had so much energy, and there were more pressing things. “Am I goin’ to die?” He couldn’t bring himself to look the Doctor in the eye.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The Doctor’s tone turned soothing. “You’ll be just fine.” He was quiet for a moment, flipping the cloth over again. “You got a good lungful of it. It’ll probably take you a few days to get it out of your system.”

“ _Days_?” Jamie opened his eyes a crack.

“Well,” said the Doctor, twisting the cloth about in his hands. “There are other options.”

“Options?” Jamie repeated weakly.

“You should be able to get it all out in one go,” said the Doctor. “But it would require some – external stimulation.”

Jamie stared at him. Understanding trickled in slowly. Oh. _Oh_. “Are you offering?”

It took the Doctor a moment to answer. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

Jamie considered – or did his best to consider. His mind was too feverish and addled to think it through properly, but he managed a sluggish sort of dilemma. They couldn’t, for he’d never be able to look the Doctor in the eye again, would he? But on the other hand – “How many days?”

“I’m not sure,” said the Doctor. “Three or four. Maybe five at the most.” He said it like it was meant to be comforting, but Jamie closed his eyes and bit back a despairing groan. The thought of four straight days of this didn’t bear thinking about.

Another wave of lust convulsed through him. He bit down hard on his lip till it was over, then blurted out, “it hurts.”

“Oh, Jamie.” The Doctor pressed the cloth to his forehead again. “Shall I –”

“ _Please_ ,” Jamie gasped. “Doctor, _please_. I cannae wait that long.”

“Are you sure?” said the Doctor. Jamie nodded as vigorously as he could. He didn’t dare open his eyes to see the Doctor’s reaction. “Alright. I shall do my best.”

There was a pair of soft thuds that he realised was the Doctor shucking off his shoes. He felt the bed dip, and abruptly the Doctor was atop him, straddling him, and that alone was enough to make him shudder.

 _Hell_ , this was real – this was really happening. His eyes flew open, and he struggled to sit up. “Doctor –”

The Doctor shushed him, pressing a hand to his chest, pushing him back onto the bed. “Lie back and think of Scotland, now, there’s a good boy.”

Jamie bit back a whine. He let his head loll against the pillow and submitted. He was dimly aware that there’d been reasons why this was a bad idea, but he couldn’t seem to remember any of them. He needed this. He needed it so badly he could barely breathe.

He stared up at the white ceiling, taking deep breaths. He felt the Doctor shift his weight about. Then his hands were flipping up Jamie’s kilt, exposing him to the cool air. He shivered, then shivered harder when the Doctor’s hands ran down his thighs. “Doctor –”

“Hush,” said the Doctor. “Are you alright?” Jamie did his best to nod. “Good.”

The Doctor’s hand wrapped around him and a jolt like an electric shock ran through his body. Jamie yelped, and the Doctor made shushing noises, his hand working Jamie gently, caressing. At first Jamie thought that was all he was going to do – but then he felt the Doctor’s breath on him. “ _Doctor_.”

The Doctor’s mouth enveloped the head of his prick with a kind of nonchalance, and Jamie saw _stars_. For a moment he was lost in a feverish haze of pleasure. When he came back to himself, the Doctor’s tongue and lips were working him steadily, and a stream of desperate, guttural sounds were falling from his mouth. He bunched his hands in the bed sheets, holding on for dear life.

He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t get his mouth to form words, and he didn’t know what to say besides. He managed “ _Doctor_ –” and in response the Doctor moaned around his prick, sending a shudder through him. Jamie writhed, biting his lip till it hurt.

The Doctor’d said he wasn’t dying, but he wasn’t so sure. If he was dying he was dying in the most exquisite way. One of the Doctor’s hands was squeezing his thigh; the other was moving to cup his balls, stroking them gently. He moaned out something that might have been a plea. He was so _close_ , and he was sure it must almost be over, for as much as he was loving it he wanted it to be over, he wanted to come – but then suddenly the Doctor was pulling back, Jamie’s prick sliding wetly from his mouth. “Och, don’t _stop_ ,” Jamie panted.

“I’m going to do something that may feel a little strange,” said the Doctor. “Just relax.”

“Get _on_ with it,” Jamie gritted out. He opened his eyes and tried to push himself up on his elbows, to look at what the Doctor was doing, but the Doctor planted a hand firmly on his chest and pushed him back down.

He lay down and tried to breathe, the room spinning gently around him. He tried to collect his thoughts, but he only got as far as _what_ before there came a wet sound and the Doctor was sucking on his prick again. He cried out, his thoughts scattering to the four winds. “ _Doctor_ – oh, hell –”

The Doctor’s mouth slipped off him. “ _Hush_ , Jamie.” Jamie spat back every curse he knew until the Doctor went back to it. He made a humming noise around Jamie’s prick, and Jamie bit back a yell.

He stared at the ceiling, watching it dip and spin in a dreamy kind of haze. The Doctor’s hand was cupping his balls again, soft and gentle. With a last squeeze he let go, and abruptly he was knuckling a sweet-spot behind his balls that Jamie didn’t even know he had. He grunted, his hips bucking off the bed, his prick sliding deeper into the Doctor’s mouth. The Doctor held him in place firmly and moaned around his prick again, his fingers moving further back, gliding across Jamie’s skin, pushing, pushing –

Jamie made a noise like, “gnrlhargh,” his head thumping back against the pillow. The Doctor’s spit-slick finger worked deeper into him. He could feel it flexing inside him, and he shouldn’t have felt good, it _shouldn’t_ , but he was so feverish the Doctor could probably have done anything, anything at all, and he’d like it.

The Doctor must have taken the noises he was making for agitation, for his mouth slipped off Jamie’s prick with a wet sound. “Try and relax,” he murmured. Jamie tried to say _I am relaxed_ – which wasn’t true, but he felt he had to say whatever the Doctor wanted to hear or he might stop – but before he could get his mouth around the words, the Doctor’s finger twisted inside him, twisted just _so_ , and –

“Oh, _hell_ ,” he choked out. He squirmed, hands fisting the pillow behind his head, trying to get the angle right, trying to get the Doctor to do that again, but he didn’t need to. The Doctor did it off his own accord, pushing up against the same spot again, and again, till Jamie could scarcely breathe.

Up until then, as good as it had felt everything the Doctor had been doing has just been making him more and more feverish, but now – whatever the Doctor was doing to his insides didn’t just feel good, it was satisfying some deep, hungry itch inside him. It was as if whatever he’d breathed in was some kind of beastie, and the Doctor was feeding it with his mouth and his fingers, and it was almost, almost – “ _Doctor_ – yes – please, _there_ – Doctor – I’m, I’m –”

It crashed through him like a wave, hot and dark. For a few blissful seconds he was aware of nothing but the Doctor’s mouth and his hands; then he was breathing hard, the room still spinning gently around him. Every joint in his body seemed to have turned to liquid. He lay back, dimly aware of the Doctor extricating himself and shifting about above him. He was quite content to let himself drift away.

“Jamie?” The Doctor’s voice, cutting through the muzziness. The Doctor’s hand on his face, patting him gently. “No, don’t go to sleep yet.”

“Mmph?” Jamie lolled back against the pillow. He didn’t want to open his eyes.

“Wake up.” The Doctor patted him more assertively. Jamie opened his eyes a crack. “That’s it. Here.” There was a clink and a splash of water, and the Doctor was coaxing him half into a sitting position. He pressed a glass against Jamie’s lips.

Jamie flinched. “What is it?”

“Just water,” said the Doctor soothingly. “Drink up. We don’t want you getting dehydrated.” All he wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep, but he drank obediently, and found that he was thirsty, much thirstier than he’d realised. “That’s it. All of it, now.” Once Jamie had drained the glass, the Doctor set it aside and wiped his face. “Alright. You can sleep now.”

He let Jamie lie back down – but he was awake now. Awake, though too sleepy and contented to think properly about what had happened. He peered up at the Doctor, who was even more mussed than usual. “What was that?”

“Hmm?” said the Doctor, still dabbing at his face.

“That thing you were doing,” Jamie slurred. “With your finger.”

“Oh, _that_ ,” the Doctor said. He tucked his handkerchief away and set about smoothing Jamie’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “That was your prostate.”

“M’what?”

“ _Prostate_ gland, Jamie,” said the Doctor, as if it was blindingly obvious. “Most men have one. It’s part of your reproductive system.” Jamie stared at him blankly. The Doctor sighed. “It links up with _here_.” He cupped Jamie’s balls and softening prick for a moment. “Inside.” He pulled Jamie’s kilt down, covering him up.

“Oh,” said Jamie. He rubbed at his face. His eyes fell closed.

“That’s it,” said the Doctor, his voice sounding far away. “You get some sleep, now. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

The bed dipped and creaked as he climbed to his feet. Jamie wanted to say _thank-you_ , but he couldn’t quite get the words out before he fell asleep.

*

Jamie woke curled beneath his blanket. For a few happy minutes he just lay there, too dozy to mind that he didn’t remember how he’d come to be in bed. Of course, it couldn’t last. He rolled onto his back and stretched, puzzled to find himself mostly closed. Someone had taken off his jacket and belt – they were, he realised as he pushed himself up on his elbows, folded neatly on a chair across the room. His shoes were tucked underneath. He stared at them, quite certain that someone had put him to bed, like a child, but he couldn’t imagine why.

The memory slammed back into him. He slumped down on the bed with a groan, pressing his hands over his face. “Mary Mother of _God_.” He had – and the Doctor had –

For half a minute he was _sick_ with shame. The memory felt a bit like something he’d done while spectacularly drunk, which consoled him a little, but only a little. He’d never done anything quite so disastrously awful before, not even when he was _blind_ drunk. His face burned as he wondered if he’d ever be able to look the Doctor in the eye again, or if the Doctor would be able to look _him_ in the eye, or – and _hell_ , what had the Doctor told Victoria?

He breathed deeply. The shame passed as quickly as it had come, and an eerie calm descended over him. His hands fell from his face to the bed, and he frowned at the ceiling, contemplative.

Was it really so awful? The Doctor hadn’t seemed to mind – well, no, the he’d minded that Jamie had got himself into the mess in the first place. He was sure to get an earful for poking at that damn plant now he was well. But otherwise the Doctor’d been so gentle and _nice_ about it. And it _had_ been nice.

Jamie’d never thought of the Doctor and sex in the same sentence before. If he’d ever thought about it, he’d have supposed the Doctor just… didn’t. But here he was, thinking about it, and obviously the Doctor _did_ , because he was far too good at it to not have got some practice in. And after all, he was four hundred years old. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had time for practicing.

He pondered the matter a little further. Then, quietly decisive, he kicked off the blanket and climbed off his bed. He stepped into his shoes and padded out of the room in search of the Doctor.

For once he was in the first place Jamie looked. His feet followed the familiar route to the control room, and there was the Doctor, pacing about the console, adjusting controls and tapping dials the way he did when he didn’t have anything better to do. By the look of it they’d taken off while Jamie was sleeping. Good riddance to Betelgeuse.

Jamie watched him silently for a moment, then cleared his throat to alert the Doctor to his presence. The Doctor started. “Ah, Jamie!” he said. “All better, I hope?”

“Aye,” said Jamie. He glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s Victoria.”

“She’s in her room,” said the Doctor, leaning over the console. He caught Jamie’s eye and answered his next question before he answered it. “I told her you were sick, and contagious. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks,” said Jamie.

“We probably ought to wake her,” said the Doctor. “Landing any minute now.”

“Listen, Doctor,” said Jamie. The Doctor glanced up. “About what happened –”

“Oh, we don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to,” said the Doctor, absurdly cheerful. “It’s quite alright.”

“But I –”

“We can put the whole incident out of our minds if that would make you more comfortable,” said the Doctor. “Hmm?”

“But I wasnae –”

“Yes, I think that might be best,” said the Doctor. With a clunk the column stilled. “Here we are.” He stood back from the console and clapped his hands together. “Shall I fetch Victoria?” With that, he strode from the console room, leaving Jamie alone and more than a little bewildered.

About twelve hours, one swarm of angry sentient bees, and a plunge into an Agraporian slime-swamp later, the three of them stumbled back into the console room in a galloping rush, a furious buzzing on their heels.

The doors swung closed, and they were safe, more or less. Jamie looked down at himself, at the filthy water dripping from the hem of his kilt to the floor, and grimaced. “Eurgh.” He shook his head, spattering water and a couple of dead leaves about. Victoria flinched, covering her face.

“Do be careful not to get the console wet, Jamie,” said the Doctor. He twisted the dematerialisation control. “There. On our way! He stepped back and looked Jamie up and down. His gaze turned ruefully to the water dripping onto his nice floor.

“Och, don’t look at me like that,” said Jamie. “It’s not as if it was my fault.” It really hadn’t been his fault. Actually, if it was anyone’s fault it was Victoria’s for screaming and startling him, but he wasn’t about to blame her. Anyway, this was just the sort of thing that happened to him lately. First aphro-whatsit pollen and now swamp water. The Doctor and Victoria were grubby around the edges; he was soaked through.

“Oh, go and take a bath, Jamie,” said Victoria. “You smell even worse than usual.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Are you saying I smell?” said Jamie, indignant.

“You could stand to bath a little more often,” said the Doctor, half-muttering. He looked up from the console and waved Jamie away. “Really, though, do go and wash before you drip all over everything.”

“Alright, alright,” said Jamie, squelching towards the door. “I’m going.”

He had to sluice himself down twice to get properly clean, even in the TARDIS’s fancy bathroom. Then he was left to sit around in a towel for an hour or so waiting for his kilt to be clean – and didn’t that still strike him as some sort of magic, the machine the Doctor had that could make a man’s kilt clean and pressed and dried in a matter of hours. He settled himself on his chair to wait.

The Doctor, true to his word, had said nothing at all about the business with the plant. Victoria had inquired as to his health; he’d assured her that he was just fine without so much as blushing (which was, he felt, quite a feat). But the Doctor had said nothing. By the look of it, he really did mean never to talk about it again, which Jamie told himself was probably a good thing. After all, wasn’t that the best way to make sure it didn’t change anything between them?

He’d been doing a pretty good job of not thinking about it himself – hadn’t had much time to think about it, what with all the excitement. But now he had nothing else to do he couldn’t help but think about it. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about it – he shouldn’t _want_ to think about it. It had been a matter of grim necessity, and the memory should make him ashamed, not – not _hot_.

Well, he had nothing better to do, and time to kill. He got up to lock the door, then shrugged off his towel and pulled on a shirt. Slumping down on the bed with a sigh, naked from the waist down, he groped about for the lotion the Doctor had given him. It was supposed to be for his hands, since he’d made the mistake of complaining that they were getting dry, but it hadn’t taken him long to find a more interesting and worthwhile use for it.

He squeezed a generous dollop onto his palm and reached down to fist his prick. He was in no hurry. He toyed with himself for a while, getting himself stiff, before he let himself consider experimenting.

He almost didn’t want to, for there was a fair chance the strange intensity of the day before was down to the pollen he’d breathed in. There was a fair chance it wouldn’t feel good a second time and he’d just spoil the memory – but, he decided, holding his prick loosely, it was worth the risk.

Starting slow, he slicked up his own hand and reached back to cup his balls. After a moment, he licked his lips and reached behind them, trying to find the sweet-spot the Doctor had found so effortlessly – _yes_. He hissed and repeated the motion. Emboldened, he reached further back and began to work his middle finger into himself.

At first it just felt odd, but it wasn’t especially uncomfortable, so he persevered, working it in and out at different angles, trying to figure out just what it was the Doctor had done to make this feel so damn good.

He was on the brink of giving up when, almost by accident, his finger slipped into the right place and his hips bucked off the bed in a quick, shallow jerk. He tried again, and this time it only took him two goes to find it.

His prick kicked in his hand. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out at how good it was. It seemed to go right through him, making his breath hitch and his hips move of their own accord, making him throb – hell with taking his time. He began to touch himself in earnest, his breathing quickening. Without really thinking about what he was doing, he shoved another finger in alongside the first. That was a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t care, for it felt better with two fingers – more intense, more satisfying.

It was fun and all until it crossed his mind, dimly, that this must be why buggerers did it. The notion crossed his mind, and then it was all he could think about. He weighed his prick in his hand and wondered how something about that size would feel in him. Good, he thought. Sinfully good, maybe. He wondered if it would be worth it.

He was still digesting that thought when he recalled, with a vividness that appalled him, the way the Doctor’s body had felt atop his, the solid weight pressing him down into the bed. And once _that_ thought was in his head, there was no dislodging it.

He spread his legs wider, his heels snagging against the rumpled blankets, and worked his fingers in and out frantically, fingering himself clumsily, his hand cupped around the head of his prick. It didn’t take long at all to bring himself over the edge, his head rolling against the pillow, biting back a cry of _Doctor_.

It wasn’t quite as intense as it had been before, but still it left him limp and boneless, spread across his head feeling like he’d had all the air socked out of him. Once he’d collected himself, he wiped his hands on his shirt and did his best to sit up.

He hadn’t exactly set out to prove a point to himself, but he seemed to have managed it anyway. He wanted to tell himself that it was just some residual effect from the pollen, but he knew that wasn’t true. He liked it; he didn’t think he was one of that sort, but he liked it. He wondered if it mattered. He’d seen enough strange things, travelling with the Doctor, to hope that it didn’t.

And the Doctor’s insistence on not talking about what had happened wasn’t going to help. It wasn’t going to make sure nothing changed between them, because like it or not something _had_ changed, and he wasn’t sure he didn’t want it to _stay_ changed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap on his door. “Jamie?” called Victoria. “Are you washed up? We’re eating.”

“Aye,” Jamie answered. He tugged the blankets to cover himself even though she couldn’t see. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

*

It took him perhaps a week – it was hard to judge time inside the TARDIS – to work up the nerve to say something. A week of the Doctor acting like everything was normal, a week of Jamie flinching every time their hands so much as brushed together and trying to pretend nothing had happened. To him it felt like play-acting, but the Doctor kept up the pretence with such sincerity that he sometimes wondered if he might not have dreamed the whole thing.

Of course, that was silly – he knew it had really happened – but he couldn’t help but wonder if the Doctor wasn’t acting. Maybe it really didn’t mean anything to him. Maybe he just saw it as like dealing with any other injury or sickness. Maybe Jamie was the daft one for worrying about it.

Well, it took him something like a week, but at last he worked up the nerve. After all, he told himself, he’d faced down cybermen and yeti; a wee chat with the Doctor couldn’t be scarier than that, surely.

He found the Doctor in the library, comfortably ensconced with a book in his favourite armchair. He glanced up at the found of Jamie’s footsteps. “Good evening, Jamie,” he said. “Are you looking for a book?”

“No, I was looking for you,” said Jamie. The Doctor hmmed in response, not taking his eyes off the page. “Can I talk to you?”

“Hmm? Of course.” The Doctor rested his book on his lap, marking his place with a finger.”

“It’s about what happened the other week.” The Doctor looked blank, which was fair enough. A lot of things happened to them. He’d have to be more specific. “With the – the plant.”

“Oh, _that_.” The Doctor opened up his book again. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to talk about it.”

“No, _you_ said we didnae have to if I didnae want to,” said Jamie. “And then you rambled on for a while and didnae let me get a word in edgeways, and then you landed the TARDIS and changed the subject.”

The Doctor’s book fell closed with an air of impatience. “Well, _do_ you want to talk about it?”

“Well, aye!” Hadn’t he just _said_ so?”

“Alright, then.” The Doctor gestured for him to go on.

It took Jamie a moment to realise he was expected to say something, and he found himself quite stumped. He was sure he’d had something planned to say, but it had fallen out of his head. “I cannae think of anything.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Och, well if you’re going to put me on the spot like that –”

“Forgive me for thinking you had something in mind.” The Doctor opened his book crisply.

Exasperated, Jamie stepped forward and put his hand down on the page. “I _did_ have something in mind.”

“Well, spit it out, then!” said the Doctor.

“I dinnae –” Jamie withdrew his hand sheepishly. He had half a mind to tell the Doctor to forget it and slink out of the room. “I just –” Slightly panicked, he blurted out the first question to come to mind. “Did you just not like it?”

The question rolled off the Doctor like water off a duck’s back, but still Jamie cringed at himself. “Jamie, you were very sick,” the Doctor said.

“That isnae what I –” Jamie began. “Did it just not – mean anything?”

That seemed to throw the Doctor, or at least give him pause. “It wasn’t exactly what I’d call favourable circumstances.”

“Well, what _would_ be favourable circumstances?”

A long pause. The Doctor closed his book and drummed his fingers upon the cover. “Are you propositioning me, Jamie?”

 _Was_ he? He really didn’t know. In retrospect, he should have planned this better. But it probably wouldn’t have done any good. The Doctor would have found a way to derail the conversation no matter how careful he was. “What if I was?”

The Doctor set his book on the table with a soft _click_. “Then I would say I would be – pleasantly surprised.”

“Is that so?” The Doctor shifted in his armchair, his hands brushing his own thighs, tugging at his trousers. Was that an invitation? Jamie wasn’t sure. He took a step forward, rested a hand on the arm of the chair, and – it _was_ an invitation. Before he knew it, he was being coaxed onto the Doctor’s lap.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was only trying not to make you uncomfortable.”

“Well, you did,” said Jamie – though he felt a bit churlish saying it, given how comfortable he was in his current position.

The Doctor traced a hand up and down his back, bunching up the cloth of his shirt. “Forgive me for assuming – oh, never mind.” Jamie was about to say something in response – probably something daft, so it was just as well – when the Doctor cupped his chin his hand and kissed him.

Jamie made a soft noise into the Doctor’s mouth. He’d kissed people before – of course he had – but it had generally been a messy, rushed affair. Plenty of fun, but nothing like this. The Doctor kissed him with a soft precision that left him breathless, and really oughtn’t have surprised him, considering how good the Doctor had been at – the other thing he did with his mouth. His hand slipped from Jamie’s chin to the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, and Jamie’s knees turned to jelly.

The Doctor drew back and looked at him with a sort of fond nonchalance, as if he hadn’t just given him the best kiss of his life. He began to work Jamie’s scarf off. “What do you want, Jamie?”

“Och, I don’t know.” The scarf slipped down to his shoulder, and the Doctor’s mouth pressed against his neck, gentle and curiously cool.

“You need to tell me.” Another kiss, this one just below his jaw. “Communication is very important, you know.”

Jamie squirmed. “I want –” The Doctor tugged his scarf down still further and pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade. “I don’t _know_.”

“You can tell me,” said the Doctor.

“I want –” The Doctor kissed him on the mouth again, his fingers under Jamie’s chin. His tongue dipped into Jamie’s mouth, sending a shiver through him. “I want you to –”

“Want me to what?” The Doctor’s hand slipped up beneath his shirt, tracing patterns on the bare skin of his back.

“Want you to –” Jamie swallowed. He trained his gaze firmly on the bookcase behind the chair, glad that he couldn’t look the Doctor in the eye, what with his face being buried in Jamie’s neck and all. “I want you t’bugger me.” 

The Doctor’s hand stilled on his back, and for a moment Jamie thought he’d ruined everything. But then the Doctor’s hand began to move again, slowly. “Oh, I see,” he said.

“Och, I’m just curious,” said Jamie, lest the Doctor get the wrong idea.

“Quite right too.” The Doctor’s fingers guided his face, turning his head, looking him in the eye. “Curiosity is a virtue. Don’t ever forget it.” He kissed Jamie softly, his hands moving to deftly unfasten his belt. It slid to the floor, quickly forgotten. 

The Doctor gripped the hem of his kilt, then stilled. “May I?”

As if he had to ask, the position they were in. “Of course,” said Jamie. He reflected, as the Doctor’s hands slid under his kilt, stroking up his thighs, that this was going better than he’d expected. Much – _ah_ – much better. He bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth and his tongue as the Doctor began a gentle, thorough exploration of his nether regions.

The Doctor explored his body like it was unfamiliar territory, making appreciative noises the whole while. By the time he coaxed Jamie’s thighs apart, he was gasping for breath, his fingers bunched in the cloth of the chair’s arms. “Alright?” said the Doctor.

“Aye, I’m –” The Doctor’s thumb pushed up against that sweet-spot behind his balls, and Jamie hissed, his eyes falling closed.

“Jamie?” The Doctor sounded almost worried. “No, don’t close your eyes. I want you to look at me.”

Jamie opened his eyes just as the Doctor’s fingers shifted further back. “Go on, then.”

“Oh, dear.” Heedless of Jamie’s protests, the Doctor’s hands withdrew. “Just a moment, Jamie – I’m sure I have something.” He began to pat himself down, checking his pockets.

“Och, can you get on with it?” said Jamie.

“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it _nicely_ ,” said the Doctor firmly, as if there was anything _nice_ about it. “Ah, here we are.” He pulled something out of his pocket. There was a _snap_ of a tube opening. “Now, this may be cold.”

It wasn’t really, it was warm enough from being in the Doctor’s coat – or it was at first, until the Doctor slid a finger into him. Inside him it felt shockingly cold. He gasped at the sensation, then before the Doctor could say anything said, “I’m fine. Keep going.”

He almost regretted it, for the Doctor was too damn good at this. The Doctor worked his finger in and out at a careful, measured pace that made Jamie’s toes curl. “I can take more than that, you know.”

“I should hope so,” said the Doctor mildly. Jamie opened his mouth to answer, but the Doctor shoved in another finger and pressed hard against his prostate. Jamie swore. The Doctor clucked his tongue in disapproval. “That’s a foul mouth you have,” he said. “I shall have to keep you quiet.” He twisted his free hand in Jamie’s hair and tugged him in to kiss.

The Doctor kissed him with such furious intensity that he almost forgot what they were supposed to be doing – until the Doctor began to work his fingers in and out properly, hard enough to make his cock kick and force a groan out of him.

Every movement seemed to go right through him, from his balls to his stomach to his throat, and it registered with him hazily as he clutched at the Doctor’s coat that this would be what it felt like, to be fucked; and suddenly it wasn’t enough any more.

He said, “mmph,” into the Doctor’s mouth. He pulled back – with difficulty, the Doctor didn’t seem to want to relinquish his lips – and said, “get on with it, will you?”

“We’re in no hurry.” The Doctor’s hand shifted, his fingers twisting a slow circle inside him. Jamie bit down hard on his lip.

“Get _on_ with it.” 

“Patience, Jamie.” The Doctor tugged his fingers out altogether, drawing a whine out of him. Jamie swore through gritted teeth. “And I don’t want to hurt you.” His fingers came back, slicker than before.

“You’re no’ hurting me,” said Jamie.

“Exactly,” said the Doctor, as if his point was proven. His free hand drifted fondly up and down Jamie’s thigh. “Are you quite comfortable?”

“Aye,” said Jamie. “I could stand to be a little more – _ack_.” He stuttered into a helpless groan as the Doctor worked a third finger into him.

“Still comfortable?” the Doctor said.

“I can handle it.” Jamie took ahold of the arms of the chair, clinging on.

“That isn’t what I asked.” The Doctor’s fingers began to move in and out, slowly. Jamie screwed his eyes shut and tried to breathe.

“Give me a moment,” he said. It was starting to be too much – too full, too heated – but it wasn’t about to back down from this.

The Doctor seemed to read his mind. “You must say if you want to stop.”

“D’you not want to?” Jamie said.

“Of course I want to,” said the Doctor. It was starting to ease up, so Jamie shifted, trying to get a better angle – and felt, for the first time, the Doctor’s erection pressing against his thigh. He thought of that up inside him, and squirmed internally.

“I’m ready,” he said. “Doctor – can we – I want –”

“Are you sure?” said the Doctor. Jamie’s only response was a semi-voluntary roll of his hips. “Oh, very well.” The Doctor tugged his fingers out and set about opening his trousers.

Jamie took a moment to breathe, and glanced down, curious to see just what the Doctor kept in there. He was relieved and a touch disappointed to see that it was normal-looking. He took hold of the back of the arm chair and waited while the Doctor slicked himself up. Then – “oh, slow _down_ , Jamie!”

“I’m no’ some delicate flower,” said Jamie. The Doctor was easing himself into position, his fingers between Jamie’s thighs. “I’m tough. I can take it.” He bore down.

“Yes, I’m sure you can, but – you’re not very experienced, and – or I assume – oh, my.” In a series of shuddering jerks Jamie worked his way down onto the Doctor, taking him an inch at a time, till they were flush together. “Oh, my. Oh, _Jamie_.”

He was pushed right to the edge of his comfort zone, but it was worth it to see the Doctor’s composure crack, his hands gripping Jamie’s thighs tight as he struggled to control himself. He probably had gone too fast, but he didn’t care. He reckoned he could get used to it. He liked the feel of it – the stretch, the heat, the pressure deep inside him.

Eventually, the Doctor’s iron grip on him slackened and his hands began to move, stroking up and down. “Comfortable?”

“Mmm,” said Jamie. Slowly, deliberately, he rolled his hips, delighting in the way it made the Doctor gasp aloud. “You like that?”

“Jamie –” He began to move, hips stuttering up and down, the Doctor slipping in and out of him, awkward and messy, but so, so good.

It was strange, for the way people talked about this it was supposed to be submission, but it didn’t feel that way at all; he’d never felt more in control, the Doctor coming apart beneath him, his breathing rough, his hands clasping Jamie’s hips. He felt like he could go on forever.

Then the Doctor thrust _up_ , fucking into him, and Jamie yelped. “Did I –” the Doctor gasped out.

“No.” Jamie gulped. “Do it again?” The Doctor repeated the motion, and Jamie groaned, his toes curling inside his boots. He kept moving, fucking down while the Doctor thrust up into him till they found a rhythm that worked.

“Someday we shall do this properly,” said the Doctor as Jamie rode him. “In a bed. I shall give you a proper hard buggering. Would you like that?”

The thought made something inside him squirm in anticipation. “You – oh, hell.” Whatever he’d been going to say, he gave up on. He grabbed the Doctor by the rumpled collar of his shirt and kissed him firmly.

He was in no hurry. He was quite content to relish the feel of the Doctor moving inside him, the way his hips bucked, the curious sensation of the Doctor’s pulse throbbing in him. He didn’t even really care about his own pleasure, for there was something almost intoxicating about being able to make the Doctor come apart so completely just by moving his hips. It felt a little like payback and a lot like heaven. “ _Jamie_ – oh, Jamie – oh, my goodness, _Jamie_ –”

Just as his thighs were beginning to tremble from the strain, the Doctor’s hands suddenly clasped tight, holding him in place. He said, “oh my, _Jamie_ ,” his eyes falling closed. Jamie sighed. He could feel the Doctor throbbing inside him; it was strange, but the good kind of strange. He felt an odd twinge of pride.

He sat there quietly while the Doctor got his breath back, shifting his hands from the Doctor’s collar to his shoulders, shifting his hips as the Doctor softened and slipped out of him.

“Well,” said the Doctor at length. “That was unexpected.”

“Och, we’re no’ done yet,” said Jamie.

“Quite right.” The Doctor’s hands ghosted up and down his thighs before settling firmly. His hand wrapped around Jamie’s prick, working him till he was fully hard, drawing shuddering gasps out of him. “Is this what you want? Hmm?”

“More or less,” said Jamie through his teeth. The Doctor was teasing now, his fingers deftly toying with Jamie’s foreskin, drawing it down to thumb at the tender places beneath.

“What _do_ you want, then?” He drew his thumb over the tip, spreading out the bead of hot liquid that had formed there.

It took Jamie a moment or two to answer. He clutched at the Doctor’s shoulders, fisting the baggy cloth of his coat. “I want – your fingers.”

Almost at once, the Doctor had two fingers up inside him. He hissed and squirmed, trying to get the angle right, but the Doctor held him steady. “Like this?”

“Aye,” Jamie breathed. The Doctor’s fingers twisted, pressing just-so, and he screwed his eyes tight shut.

“No, open your eyes,” said the Doctor. “Jamie. I want to see you.” Jamie forced his eyes open and tried to breathe. It wasn’t going to take long; he was halfway there already.

The Doctor stroked him once, twice, three times, and he was finished. He said, “Doctor,” and, “ _Doctor_ ,” heat building, his pulse roaring in his ears; then with a last shout he saw _stars_.

It knocked all the stuffing out of him. He went slack so fast he almost slid right off the Doctor’s lap to the floor. “Oh, careful!” The Doctor looped an arm around his waist, holding him in place.

They sat like that quietly till Jamie began to recover. The Doctor’s grip on him loosened, his hand sliding up under his shirt, running up and down his back, separating damp cloth from skin. Jamie shifted, straightening up, and the Doctor’s hand withdrew. “That was lovely, Jamie.” He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and began to wipe his fingers. “I really must make you do that again.”

“Och, give me a moment.” Jamie let go of the Doctor’s coat and did his best to smooth the cloth out, but it was a lost cause. “Why didnae you say anything?”

“Hmm?” the Doctor finished wiping his hands and discarded the handkerchief, dropping it to the floor.

“Why’ve you been pretending like nothing happened all week?”

“ _Oh_ ,” said the Doctor. “Well, to be perfectly honest, it never occurred to me that you might be interested.” His hands stroked up and down Jamie’s flanks. “I’m just a daft old man, and you’re – you’re –”

“What am I?” said Jamie. The Doctor didn’t answer, or not in words. He pressed a soft kiss to Jamie’s lips, his hand cupped about the back of his neck. “What am I, then?” The Doctor was kissing his way down the line of Jamie’s jaw, apparently not inclined to give a reasonable answer any time soon. He reached Jamie’s neck and went straight for his pulse-point, sucking a hot, wet kiss there that made Jamie gasp. “ _Oh_.”

“Now then,” said the Doctor, drawing back. “Shall we –”

He was interrupted by a voice calling from somewhere outside the library. “Doctor?” Jamie looked around, startled. “Jamie? Are you in there?” He turned back to face the Doctor, and found he looked about as horrified as Jamie felt.

“Victoria!” the Doctor hissed.

“Oh, _hell_ ,” said Jamie. He scrambled off the Doctor’s lap and tried frantically to straighten himself out, tugging down his kilt and twisting his scarf back into place. The Doctor was fastening up his trousers in a desperate rush. Jamie’s belt was still lying on the floor; he kicked it out of sight and flung himself onto the sofa, snatching up one of the books the Doctor had left on the table. He opened it up and stared at the page intently – just as Victoria wandered in.

“Oh, _here_ you both are,” she said.

“Good evening, Victoria,” said the Doctor pleasantly.

“I was looking for you,” said Victoria. “I –” She broke off. Jamie realised she was looking at him. “Jamie, that book is upside down.”

“It is?” Jamie squinted at the page. “Oh, so it is!” He turned the book around. “I was just. Looking at the pictures.” He shifted about. He’d managed to sit down just so that he could feel where the Doctor’d been inside him.

“Can I help you, Victoria?” said the Doctor, dragging her attention away from Jamie before she noticed just how implausible the book he was ‘reading’ was.

“Not really, I was just wondering where you’d got to,” she said. She perched on the sofa beside Jamie and tried to look at the book he was holding. He closed it quickly and tossed it back onto the table.

“It’s no’ very interesting,” he said. “Shall we leave the Doctor to it?” He jumped up from the sofa, tugging her with him. “C’mon.” He took her by the elbow and led her out of the room, sparing a glance over his shoulder. The Doctor gave him a little wave and went back to his book.

“Well, _really_ ,” said Victoria outside in the corridor, snatching her arm out of his grip. “I will _never_ understand you two. Not even if I live to be a hundred.”

“I didn’t want to be disturbing him,” said Jamie. Victoria rolled her eyes and turned on her heel. “Victoria!” he called after her. “I’m sorry.” He watched, reproachfully, as she walked away. Once she was out of sight he ducked back into the library.

The Doctor had gone back to reading his book as if nothing had happened. Jamie had to clear his throat to get his attention. “I think we upset her,” he said.

“Would you rather have told her what we were doing?” said the Doctor. Jamie pulled a face. “Exactly.” Jamie waited a moment, then sank back onto the sofa with a sigh. “I think we’ve learned a valuable lesson, anyway.”

“What’s that, then?” 

“Next time we shall do it somewhere private.”

“Och, you’re a strange chappie,” said Jamie. The Doctor hmmed in agreement. “There’s to be a next time, then?”

“Just sat the word,” said the Doctor. Crisply, he turned over a new page.


End file.
